


Within/Without

by clementine (Clementine)



Category: Motorcity
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Webcams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementine/pseuds/clementine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck cultivates his inner exhibitionist hussy with the help of a webcam, an extranet connection, and a bossy anonymous stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within/Without

**Author's Note:**

> I am so tempted to anxiously fuss about this fic and make all sorts of apologies for everything that's wrong with it, but I just have to set it free, let it spread its smutty wings and soar amongst the clouds.
> 
> I will allow myself to apologize for the amount of profanity in this fic (my love for the word "fuck" outweighs my love for the non-cussing-Burners meme) and one note of explanation for reference: a "rat rod" is a type of hot rod.

It wasn't exactly something that happened on purpose _._ Chuck hadn't gone _looking_ for it at first, he'd just kind of heard about it – someone in his LARP group had mentioned it while they were all hanging out eating pizza and toweling off all the dust and sweat and body paint after a long game in the dead, breathless heat of a Motorcity summer.

“I was messing around on the extranet the other day,” Thurman said, pulling a wrinkled piece of pepperoni off his slice and handing it to Ruby, who dutifully ate it. This was a familiar routine, as Thurman was a fastidious vegetarian while Ruby was more or less the human equivalent of a goat or perhaps a garbage disposal: she ate anything and everything that appeared in front of her.

“I found this website, for, like... surveillance. I mean... You know.” Thurman paused, grinning self-consciously. “ _Dirty_ surveillance.”

“What?” a scrawny kid with a wispy mustache asked. (Chuck had known the kid for fourteen weekends and could not, for the life of him, recall his name. Caleb, Colin... something.) “Like somebody hacked into private feeds?”

“No,” Thurman said, gesturing wildly, clearly pleased that he was the keeper of some nugget of salacious knowledge that no one else was yet privy to. The thick slab of greasy cheese atop his pizza slice started to droop precariously, so he stuffed it into his mouth and kept talking. “People were _broadcasting_ their feeds willingly, and other people would watch them! And everybody's all, like, naked and whatever! It's crazy.”

“Ew. Perverts.” Ruby wiped crumbs off her chin with the back of her hand and accepted another slice of pepperoni from Thurman.

It was an offhand comment that everyone sort of nervously snickered about and then that thread of conversation died and someone started talking about those fucking smug Bardonians and that was it.

Well, except it wasn't. At least not for Chuck.

He kept thinking about it.

Late at night in the Burners' garage, it wasn't uncommon for him to retreat to a quiet, secluded spot. In fact, he had his very own corner decorated with discarded soda cans and and a decaying, overstuffed chair upholstered in fabric that may at one point have been plaid but it was now impossible to tell. There, he would painstakingly slave away at tedious security maintenance and debugging, picking out flaws in the code and bashing away at it until eventually something stuck.

(As a largely self-taught programmer, that was the best way he learned, and the best way he worked. Trial by error, or, more accurately, trial by fire. And, truth be told, there wasn't really any _other_ way to work while you were in the high-pressure environment of Motorcity.)

It was one of those late-ish nights that he, resolve sufficiently steeled, twitched his fingers and discarded the latest bit of unrealized coding gibberish he'd been slowly but surely mangling over the last thirty minutes or so. He pulled up a portal to the extranet on his HUD.

“Um,” he said. “Huh.” He'd tweaked his UI to allow him to verbally input search keywords, but – even though everyone was asleep – this wasn't something he wanted anyone to hear him muttering about. He rested his fingers lightly on the tactile keyboard (Chuck liked the retro feel of it) and knitted his brows in consternation.

_Personal camera surveillance._

No.

_Private camera feeds._

No, he supposed that wasn't quite right either. Okay, Chuck. Try again.

 _Dirty surveill_ – No, good god, no. He stopped typing mid-sentence, shaking his head at himself and feeling intensely ridiculous. He hunched over his HUD, peering over the lip of the translucent screen, keeping an eye out for any wandering Burners.

 _People getting naked on camera._ As an afterthought, he added, _for fun_ , just in case it wasn't clear. A litany of results scrolled quickly on his screen – _shit,_ he thought, _Thurman wasn't kidding, there are tons of these sites –_ and, overwhelmed by the glut of options, he wiggled his fingers in an _eeny-meeny-miny-moe_ pattern and then maximized one at random.

He was immediately assaulted by several extraneous windows popping up on his HUD, flickering and blinking with lewd videos and vulgar text. The sound of girls moaning breathily and men grunting suddenly echoed in the empty garage.

“Oh, I'm so horny and wet,” one disembodied voice mewled. “Don't you want to see how hot I am for you, _%error_username_unavailable_? I just love your big, sexy _%user_specific_trait_not_found_!”

“What the – fffff – _ah!_ No! No!”

Chuck only barely managed to tame his shriek of mortification into something like a mere horrified whine and immediately killed almost every process on the system before he fled to the cramped quiet of his loft room and vowed to never search for anything involving the word “ _naked”_ on the extranet ever again.

This solemn promise lasted a week. Technically, seven days and four hours and twelve minutes, if anyone was counting, which nobody was.

Or almost nobody.

Chuck may have been counting, a little.

He'd flushed any potentially infected code that might have breached his system after that last attempt and engaged in some serious breathing exercises to calm himself down. He'd never really bothered to search for anything like that before, so he'd been totally unprepared for the onslaught of bare skin and the garish, abysmal UI. It wasn't the nudity, really; it was just that he'd never seen people _spread open_ like that. It was... weird. And pretty much the opposite of sexy.

Not that Chuck had any fucking clue what “sexy” even was... But seeing a bunch of heavily-painted girls with their ankles around their ears didn't exactly turn his crank.

So what was it, then? What was he so curious about?

Chuck had gotten snippets of Jacob's heavily abridged “the birds and the bees” talk and had mostly been horrified by what he'd heard, Jacob dissecting it in excruciating detail like an engineer explains any complex process. Eventually, Chuck got a little clearer on the concept once he'd discovered the never-ending wonder that was masturbation, but he still couldn't imagine bringing another person into the ordeal. The idea of someone getting all up close and personal with his business like that was a little intimidating.

Uh. More than a little, actually.

But that didn't stop him from _thinking_ about what it might be like.

Chuck knew the way he touched himself, he knew the feel of his own skin. He knew the way the pads of his fingertips felt against the smooth tip of his own tongue, and he knew how it felt when he licked his hand and jerked off into his spit-slick palm. He knew the way he liked to grip himself, the way he liked to tug gently at his foreskin, the way he pressed a knuckle behind his balls when he was close to coming – and the way he'd curl up into himself and flex his toes and gasp silently as he did.

What he didn't know was what that looked like on someone else, and man, he really wanted to know. He wanted to know how someone's eyebrows might knit or how the sweat on their upper lip might look or how their muscles might twitch or their thighs quiver. How would they touch themselves - leaning forward on their knees, or sprawled lazily backwards? What might their breath sound like, their quiet moans?

So he'd just look. He'd be more careful this time.

Of course, the quiet flaw here was that he wanted to do more than just look – he wanted to be _watched._ But he ignored that thought as, with more stringent protocol, he chose another feed hub. After maximizing it, he waited for the inevitable influx of pop-ups and loudly moaning sound files, but when none came, he was reassured that he'd picked a good one.

“Now to get down to business,” Chuck muttered, then cringed at himself for it.

He was required to create a username before he could proceed further, and, annoyed at this wrinkle in his plan, he blindly selected a randomly-generated username and pressed _Submit_. It wasn't until the confirmation screen popped up – _Congratulations on your new account, CaptainCocktease!_ – that he realized his horrible mistake, but at that point it was too late to go back.

He spent half a moment writhing in uncontrollable shame-laughter before he decided to persevere. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Fuck it, right?” he murmured valiantly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nobody reads these stupid names anyway. Captain Cocktease, King Boner-Slayer, Lord of the Dicks, sure, whatever.”

An illicit thrill crept through him as he suddenly surveyed the teeming mob of flickering camera feeds to choose from. He was quivering slightly and he could feel his stomach twisting in odd anticipation as he browsed the available feeds, each one represented by a moving thumbnail. He leaned forward, his nose nearly piercing the screen, and inspected the possibilities. His eyes slid over a veritable feast of vulva, spread and displayed like a butterfly's plucked wings. He was awed by the variety. Some had puffy lips, some were tiny and tucked away; some were bare, some were hairy; some were a lovely rose-red or dark brown or vibrant pink.

None of them actually _interested_ him, though.

Chuck wasn't sure whether he was surprised or relieved when he figured that out. Vaginas (or, as Texas lovingly called them, “fur burgers”) were quite pretty, but now that he had finally seen one, he was fairly sure they weren't what he was looking for. He lingered a few moments longer, deliberating and inspecting, until he saw a different type of feed nestled amongst the rest: thickly furred thighs, heavy balls, and a meaty fist closed around a veiny erection.

Until now, Chuck had been too tense to really get into what he was seeing – you know, _into_ it – but his own cock twitched in response. Shamefaced, he glanced away, like suddenly he was aware that he was seeing something he shouldn't, but his gaze crept back to the screen almost involuntarily.

So, uh, that was what he wanted to look at, apparently.

Yeah, okay. Dicks. Sure. Let's do this.

He stared at each thumbnailed feed in open-mouthed awe, unsure of what to do. He was aware that once he picked one, he'd never be able to un-see whatever it was; if his eyes were about to get real intimate with someone's throbbing boner for the first time, he wanted to make sure he didn't settle for one of inferior quality. Whatever cock he chose had to be perfect. He wanted to start off right with this whole thing.

Wait. Chuck felt like, if he was going to undertake this perilous journey, he should be prepared. Like, with a towel. Just in case things got... messy? Yeah.

He sprinted on quiet feet across the garage and grabbed a threadbare towel, blotched with grease and fraying at the edges, then tossed it over his beloved armchair. That shitty old chair was so destroyed and discolored, no one would ever know if Chuck stained it... but _Chuck_ would know. A towel was necessary. He was not going to sit in his own stale jizz.

Feeling slightly more in control of the situation now that he had protection in place, Chuck scrolled timidly through the available choices when one finally caught his eye. It was a relatively new feed – the ticker at the bottom announced that the user, _RatRodXVII,_ had only come online twenty-seven seconds ago – and there was no one watching him. The camera was trained tightly at the guy's lower half, everything above the navel invisible. He was sitting in the dark wearing nothing but his underwear, ridiculous lime-green patterned boxer-briefs against dusky skin, and his thighs, skinny but muscular and dappled with hair, were slightly spread. There was a tempting narrow line of dark fur leading down his flat stomach from his belly button and then disappearing below the elastic band of his hideous briefs.

With a flick of his fingers, Chuck brought up the feed, peering around one last time to make sure he had no _other_ unwanted spectators, and turned on his own camera. A mirror image of himself flickered to life and he quickly fumbled with the lens, angling it downward until his face was obscured. (Okay, so he hadn't exactly planned on going on camera, but...) He double-checked to make sure both his audio input and output were muted, then, with giddily trembling fingers, he sent a message.

_**CaptainCocktease** : Hi._

Yeah. There was Chuck's rock-solid opener. “Hi.” Good, great, brilliant. Fuck. Idiot.

At first, the guy didn't seem to notice his audience; he had a hand draped lazily over his thigh and the other one was palming himself through his patterned underwear in a way that made Chuck's pulse skip and jump and do goddamn triple-axel somersaults. It looked like he wasn't hard yet, but he didn't seem particularly committed to it – he was just touching himself slowly, indulgently, and Chuck stared as he did. (Chuck also leaned forward and squinted: were those... _dancing hot dogs_ on his underwear?)

The hand stopped and the fingers twitched, then a response popped up.

_**RatRodXVII** : Nice name, Captain._

Chuck groaned aloud and dropped his face into his hands, then quickly straightened again when he realized the other guy could see him. _Be cool, be cool,_ he thought. He scrambled for some kind of witty response and came up empty handed. Starting to panic, he went into fight-or-flight mode.

_**CaptainCocktease** : It only seemed fitting. I have a military background. Have to command the respect I deserve._

Yes, Chuck was fabricating bullshit to impress some half-naked stranger on the extranet. He did not know the first goddamn thing about the military and had never had any interest in anything remotely military-like. So of course the best possible choice here would be to bring up his long, distinguished history of service. Which one, you ask? Oh, just the one that never fucking happened.

_**RatRodXVII** : Really? Me too. Former Deluxian, huh? What unit?_

Oh, no. Shit. Seriously, dude? Chuck tried to conjure an official-sounding answer, then thought of Mike – what unit had he served in when he was under Kane? – and then, of course, immediately felt wretchedly guilty for dragging poor Mike into this sordid situation. No, thoughts of Mike needed to stay far, far away from what was happening here.

_**RatRodXVII** : Uh, wait... Never mind. Probably not a good idea to be asking questions like that on a place like this. Sorry. I'm kind of new to this whole thing._

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and composed a response.

_**CaptainCocktease** : I am too. I don't really know why I'm here._

_**RatRodXVII** : I'm gonna guess jerking off is probably the reason just about everyone's here._

Chuck snorted loudly, then glanced around, hoping the sound didn't attract any attention from the living quarters on the far side of the garage. After a few tense seconds, he didn't hear any of the other Burners stirring, so he returned to his HUD. His half-naked stranger was touching himself in earnest now, his fingertips snaking beneath the fabric of his briefs. (Briefs that were absolutely, definitely covered in dancing hot dogs. Dear god.) Chuck resisted the urge to paw at his screen. He wondered what this stranger was feeling as he ran his hands along his own thighs and cupped his half-hard dick through his shorts while Chuck watched.

A message popped up on the screen and nervous shiver worked its way up Chuck's spine as he read it.

_**RatRodXVII** : You're wearing way too many clothes._

The command behind it was subtle but unmistakable even to Chuck, who was woefully inexperienced about these things.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispered to himself, then pushed the hem of his shirt up over his belly, exposing the pale skin.

_**RatRodXVII** : Take it off for me?_

After a split-second of self-conscious hesitation, Chuck obeyed. Inside the garage, the air was almost uncomfortably warm and it felt good to pull the fabric away from his sticky skin. He dropped his shirt in a heap next to him on the floor and it stirred up a small eddy of dust.

_**RatRodXVII** : Wow._

Wait, what? “Wow?” What the hell was that? A “wow” of disappointment or surprise? The punctuation gave nothing away – an exclamation point would have made the intent much more obvious, while a period was just neutral, nothing to go on. Shit! It was always so damn hard to tell through text! Chuck fidgeted, glancing down at himself. He had yet to sprout any real hair to speak of anywhere except his armpits and his pubes – the rest of him was covered in a fine blond fuzz, nothing particularly remarkable. He had a few hairs in the center of his chest, a couple around his nipples, and a whole shitload of freckles across his shoulders and chest. The skin around his chest and neck was already starting to flush pink from the summer heat and the intense scrutiny of his half-naked stranger, making him look like a spotted lobster.

“Wow” was probably not the word Chuck would have used to describe himself at that moment, but on Chuck's screen, the stranger's broad hand had disappeared entirely into his underwear and he was stroking himself languorously.

_**RatRodXVII** : I love freckles. I want to see the rest of you – will you show me?_

_**RatRodXVII** : Please._

What a gentleman, asking for permission. Hard to say no to such a polite request. Hard to say no to this guy, period.

_**CaptainCocktease** : Yeah... You get a peek._

Chuck took a deep breath and stood up, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping them. They slid down his slim hips. Chuck had abstained from underwear that day and his bush of straw-colored pubic hair as well as the base of his cock were visible through the _V_ of his unfastened jeans.

The effect it had on Chuck's anonymous admirer was visible: he bucked his hips slightly out of his seat, grinding into his palm, and his stomach muscles bunched and tightened. He typed something one-handed.

_**RatRodXVII** : That is so fucking hot._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Thanks._

Dude, come on, Chuck, what a lame thing to say. He sighed, chewing his lip. Keep going, keep talking, say something else. Be seductive.

_**CaptainCocktease** : You are too._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Like, really hot._

Not much better, but whatever.

_**RatRodXVII** : If I show you mine, will you show me yours?_

Wait. _Wait._ Hold the fuck up. Chuck raised his eyebrows, reading and re-reading that last message. “If I show you mine...” – that was almost definitely way lamer than any of the extraordinarily lame bullshit Chuck had said so far.

Holy shit, but this dude was a total dweeb! He probably had no clue what the hell he was doing, either! Chuck stifled a laugh behind his palm, shook his head, and, with new confidence that at least he wasn't entirely alone in his lameness here, shed his pants and kicked them away. Sighing in contentment, he wrapped his long fingers around his semi and pulled the foreskin back over the vibrant pink head, rubbing his thumb over the tip and softly pressing against the sensitive underside until he was almost fully hard.

His handsome stranger had begun to shimmy out of his boxer-briefs, cocking his knees at an awkward angle and wrestling to get into an acceptable position before he could actually pull them off his long legs. It hadn't been apparent before but now it was obvious the guy was folded into some ridiculously cramped space. Chuck cocked his head, watching the bizarre ordeal; was this dude jerking off in a cardboard box or a janitor's closet or something?

Once the underwear was gone, however, Chuck was not really thinking of cardboard boxes or closets or anything because fucking hell that was a _penis_. A penis that belonged to somebody who wasn't Chuck. That was a first. It was a fairly glorious one, too – not that Chuck had much of a frame of reference, but objectively, yes, quite a respectable boner. It was pretty thick, curved ever so slightly up and to the left in a way that Chuck found intensely attractive for no reason that he could name, and surrounded by coarse hair. The head of his cock was coated with glistening precum. The skin of his thighs looked so soft, the cant of his hips unbelievably inviting.

Before he could stop himself, Chuck typed and sent a message of uncharacteristic filth.

_**CaptainCocktease** : I really wanna taste you._

Chuck could tell when his stranger had read the message as in response he gripped the base of his dick hard enough to make the veins stand out beneath the dark skin, purplish and lovely, and tugged once, twice, coaxing out a strand of precum that dripped over his knuckles.

The urge to lick it up was overpowering, and Chuck wiped his mouth to make sure he wasn't drooling on himself as he stared.

_**RatRodXVII** : Show me how much you like it._

Slightly weak in the knees, Chuck stumbled backwards on to his blanket-draped chair and folded his skinny legs until he was kneeling upright, his cock jutting toward the screen. He leaned back and gripped the head of the chair for support, then ran his fingers down the length of his body in a way that he hoped was sensuous and enticing and didn't look like he was checking himself for warts.

It was exhilarating, showing himself off like this to someone whose identity he didn't even know. Chuck wondered briefly if he was making a massive mistake – would his brain forever be warped because his first sexual experience was with a faceless stranger? – but when he saw how much his spectator appreciated the show, it was hard to stop. Everything felt so much more intense, being watched like this: the familiar sensation of his callused fingertips on his own skin set off ripples of goosebumps in their wake and even just lightly squeezing his erection had him gasping.

_**RatRodXVII** : Wish I could hear you._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Yeah, it sucks... but I have roommates._

_**RatRodXVII** : Same here. I bet you make the most amazing sounds, though._

Chuck was in the middle of typing “ _not really_ ” before he paused and thought about it. Even though he did kind of sound like a deflated balloon while he was jerking off, this dude didn't have to actually know about it. If Chuck wanted to claim that his moans sounded like a beautiful orgasmic symphony, then he could sure as shit say exactly that. Not like anyone was gonna call his bluff.

_**CaptainCocktease** : I do sound pretty good when I really get going. I'm kind of, uh, loud._

_**RatRodXVII** : Loud is good, I like loud. I want to be there with you, make you scream for me._

Oh. _Well._ How about that. Chuck stifled a guttural sigh of scandalized pleasure as he scanned the text on his screen. He pumped his cock a few times, getting real theatrical about it, thrusting his hips hard and rolling his balls in his palm. He spit on his fingers and tugged on his foreskin, shivering as it dragged over the sensitive crown.

Across the extranet, his stranger was stroking himself with both hands, one on top of the other so that they wrapped around the entire length of his dick, going at it like it was going out of style. His stomach and arms were shining with sweat and Chuck could tell he was breathing hard, even if he couldn't hear it. They'd just been teasing each other at first but now shit was getting real – there was nowhere to go from here but up. Or down. Whatever direction led to an orgasm.

_**RatRodXVII** : Sit and spread your legs._

Part of Chuck bristled at being ordered around, and another part of him thrilled at it. He didn't know what he was doing – like, at all – and being given commands made him feel more at ease. Maybe he didn't need to be the one in control. Maybe he didn't even need to be in control at all. Chuck could stop stressing, just let the other guy handle it and focus instead on more important stuff, like how much he wanted to put his mouth in really inappropriate places and do really inappropriate things with it.

He sat back, both of his pale knees blushing a bright red from grinding against the rough towel, and propped one leg up against the arm of the chair, his cock still in hand. He wiggled into position so that he was sprawled out and completely exposed, though his face was still out of the camera's view. As he saw the image of himself, totally spread and practically vibrating with need, he expected to be embarrassed or ashamed, but he was too far gone for modesty at this point.

_**RatRodXVII** : That's an awesome view._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Yeah, yours isn't too bad either._

_**RatRodXVII** : You are so fucking hot. You have no idea the filthy stuff I'd do to you if you were here with me._

_**CaptainCocktease** : So tell me._

His stranger leaned forward intently, typing with one hand, and Chuck squirmed in anticipation. He watched the way the guy's knuckles skirted over his own skin with gentle touches, the way he squeezed the base of his cock, the way the sweat was beginning to bead and drip off his body. That line of dark fur along his belly was now damp with perspiration and somehow that made the whole thing even sexier and Chuck didn't even fully understand what the fuck was happening to him but he knew that he should have done this, the jerking off on camera thing, a long time ago because it was fucking _awesome._

_**RatRodXVII** : I'd love to pin you down in that chair, tie your wrists with my belt, and fuck you with my tongue until you were begging me to stop. I'd hold you down with a hand around your throat and make you moan for me, make you yell my name over and over, and I'd see how many times I could make you come before we were both too tired to keep going._

Chuck had wanted many things in his life. It was unavoidable: living in Motorcity, one got used to leading an existence of almost permanent _want_. The beds were hard, the air was dirty, the food was terrible. It was hard not to want more, hard not to dream of better. But never in his entire life had Chuck ever wanted exactly what the faceless stranger had just said to him. He could almost feel those fingers around his neck, and he wished that he had a name to cry out.

_**RatRodXVII** : I'd make you kneel in front of me and suck my cock and swallow it all. I bet you have such a pretty mouth._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Holy shit dude keep talking please please please don't stop._

Chuck saw his stranger's belly tense on camera, and he could tell the guy was laughing. Yeah, this dude knew he totally had the upper hand. Stupid, smug, sexy fucker. Whatever. As long as he kept talking dirty, Chuck didn't care.

_**RatRodXVII** : Would you let me fuck your ass?_

_**CaptainCocktease** : I don't know... I've never done anything like that before._

_**RatRodXVII** : I haven't either. I'd be gentle, I promise. Turn around, let me see it._

He quickly hauled himself to his knees again and turned his ass to the camera, blushing as he did so, but desperately wanting to please his stranger, earn his approval. He brought his HUD's incoming feed and chat pane around in front of him so he could watch the other guy even while Chuck faced away from the camera itself.

_**RatRodXVII** : Wow... that is a thing of beauty. Have you ever fingered yourself while you jerk off?_

_**CaptainCocktease** : No, but it seems kinda hot._

_**RatRodXVII** : Would you? For me?_

Chuck bit his lip and tried to quell the full-body shudder of pleasure he felt as he read. He got the impression that even though there was a question mark tacked on at the end of that sentence, it was not a request. Chuck had no particular intention of disobeying.

_**RatRodXVII** : Get your fingers real wet and go slow._

He stuck a finger in his mouth and covered it liberally in spit, then reached behind him and pressed a fingertip against his hole. With a little pushing, it slid inside up to the first knuckle, but Chuck wasn't impressed with the sensation. It was uncomfortable and vaguely unpleasant. Both of his hands were now fully occupied so he had no opportunity to inform his stranger of this unfortunate turn of events, but it seemed this had been expected.

_**RatRodXVII** : It's kinda weird at first but just relax. I promise it gets better. Keep touching yourself too._

So this guy knew how it felt? Did that mean he'd done it to himself before? Chuck's eyes fluttered closed at the thought and he pressed harder until he was up to the second knuckle while he jerked himself off, twisting his grip around his cock. He started to slowly move his finger and sped up the pace of his strokes; his forehead dropped forward against the chair and he let out a heavy, quaking breath.

He glanced up at the camera feed and saw his stranger grinding into his own fist, both of his legs pressed hard against something on either side of him, and his balls pulled up tight against his body. There was a smear of sweat and precum on his thighs that glistened in the low light of the camera feed. His hands were slick with it, too, and Chuck wished he was getting fucked by those long fingers instead of his own.

_**RatRodXVII** : How's it feel?_

In response, Chuck pulled out of his ass, spat a hefty drop of saliva on his middle finger, and then pushed it inside himself along with his first finger. It still felt really bizarre, stung a little, and the angle was a little awkward, but... overall, not terrible. The extra spit helped lubricate things and so the friction as he moved his fingers around was a little more tingle and a little less burn. It sent little shocks through his dick, added an extra unfamiliar twinge to each stroke as he touched himself. He was so hard now that it actually _hurt_.

_**RatRodXVII** : Imagine it was my cock inside you, stretching you open._

Chuck did. He imagined being bent over the hood of a car ( _Mutt_ , he thought guiltily), his face pressed into the warm metal, maybe the engine even still thrumming beneath it, and a hard cock driving into him while he gasped and choked. It would probably hurt – probably _definitely_ hurt – but he was starting to see how it might kind of feel totally sweet, too. He wanted to taste his stranger's sweat, feel those strong hands pinning him, smell his musk and breath and skin, and he wouldn't even mind the pain. He might even kind of like it. Was that weird? Yeah, that was sort of weird. But also kind of hot.

He imagined a voice in his ear, one that sounded awfully familiar, telling him, _Come for me, Chuckles._

No! No. Shit. Fuck. He was close already. He pulled his hand off his cock and, shaking and breathless, typed a message.

_**CaptainCocktease** : I'm gonna come..._

_**RatRodXVII** : Me too – watching you is so incredible._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Wanna come together?_

_**RatRodXVII** : Yeah. Lie down again, but keep fingering yourself._

Chuck did as he was told, flopping down on his back, spitting on his fingers again and then scissoring them inside himself. It was easier to get them inside now, but he could feel his muscles tightening as he got closer to coming. He fucked himself harder, pressing deeper until his wrist hurt, and finally the sensations started to turn completely away from “weird” and began sprinting at full speed towards “pretty fucking great.” His mouth was hanging open as he pulled desperately at oxygen, his toes were curled so hard they were cramping and he could feel the orgasm starting like a slow burn low in his stomach, elusive but unmistakable, making his breath stutter and his head feel fuzzy. He didn't think about it; if he tried too hard to come, he'd psych himself out, so instead Chuck just watched his stranger.

Onscreen, the guy was jerking himself hard, squeezing the head of his cock with every pull, smearing precum everywhere and squirming like it felt so good he couldn't stand it.

_**RatRodXVII** : Come for me._

Chuck gasped. _Come for me, Chuckles._

He did.

The first spurt of semen hit his chin, the second his neck, and the subsequent ones pooled, hot and wet, in his navel. His whole body locked up and his fingers curled inside himself, coaxing a heady, wracking shiver of pleasure from him. He couldn't think or speak or even breathe.

His stranger sped up his strokes and then suddenly slowed. He raised his hips off his seat and his legs shook hard and Chuck saw the pearly white come that painted his chest and belly and ran thick over his knuckles. There was a lot of it and it looked so perfect against his dark skin, Chuck wanted to touch it and taste it and maybe paint little stick figures on the guy's chest with it. Wait, what?

(Chuck's brain, post-orgasm, was basically soup.)

It was quiet for a few moments. Chuck did not think he could handle stringing together a coherent sentence yet, but he was buzzing with glee, and a healthy amount of complete and utter shock, about what had just gone down.

_**RatRodXVII** : Whoa shit that was amazing._

_**CaptainCocktease** : sfpPD;Fclfl,ggbbbbb.................,,,,,......._

They both lay in their respective thrones of sin, breathing hard and trying to collect themselves as long stripes of spunk cooled on their torsos. Chuck wiped the sticky mess off his face – in all of his years of enthusiastic masturbation, he could not ever recall hitting himself in the face, so that was pretty cool, maybe? – and tried to remember how to introduce air back into his lungs.

_**RatRodXVII** : Thank you for that, dude. I needed that so badly._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Yeah, not bad for a first time... you are so hot, fucking fuck._

_**RatRodXVII** : Think there'll ever be a second time?_

Chuck inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, and tried to focus his fried brain. He stared, thought about it, stared some more.

_**CaptainCocktease** : With you? Dude, I would jerk off with you until my dick fell off. Until my hands literally could no longer function. And then I would get prosthetic hands just so I could keep jerking off. You get the idea._

_**RatRodXVII** : Yeah, I think I'm pretty clear on that one. Ditto – except for that prosthetic hands thing. Kinda weird._

_**CaptainCocktease** : I need to clean up... I kind of got it everywhere._

_**RatRodXVII** : Yes you did, and it was totally fucking awesome._

Wobbling like a newborn giraffe, Chuck stumbled around the garage as quietly as he could to fetch a wet washcloth from the bathroom. (Good thing he laid down that towel over his precious chair.) He returned to his chair and sponged off some of the mess, much of which had already started to dry. Meanwhile, his stranger appeared to be wiping himself down with his wadded-up underwear, which was both gross and kind of sexy. Those poor hot dogs.

 _I did it! Totally just went into turbo-slut mode with a random dude on cam!_ Chuck thought, absently scrubbing at his soiled belly button. _Frickin' sweet._

Once they were both clean (or something approximating cleanliness), they just kind of sat, not really typing or moving, both of them unsure of how, exactly, to say goodnight. That was what happened now, right? They said goodbye?

The stranger did it first, though he seemed reluctant.

_**RatRodXVII** : I should get going. It's pretty late and I had a long, looong day. I really don't want to leave you, though. At all._

_**CaptainCocktease** : Hey, don't worry about it. There's always next time, right?_

_**RatRodXVII** : True... and there better be a next time, Captain. :)_

A dialog box popped up. _**RatRodXVII**_ _has closed their broadcast._

Chuck sat there in dazed silence for a few moments, then heaved a massive, happy sigh. He didn't feel any different, really, considering that he'd basically just lost his virginity over the extranet to a stranger. Did feel pretty good, though. He reached down and fetched his jeans from the floor, lazily tugging them on over his bare hips; they stuck to his sweaty skin.

He was just letting his eyelids droop closed – he didn't intend to sleep out there, but he just really, really did not want to move, like, at all, ever – when he suddenly heard a car door slam outside. His heart imploded with shock and he rolled off the chair, eyes as wide as dinner plates, like a deer in headlights.

Who the hell was that? Everyone was supposed to be inside! Asleep! Fuck, abort mission! If anyone came in here and saw him sprawled out half-naked, stinking of semen, and covered in sweat, it wouldn't take crack detective skills to figure out what he'd been doing. That was not a conversation Chuck wanted to have – not now, not _ever._

He killed his computer display and skittered behind his chair, holding his breath as one of the garage's heavy metal doors swung open slowly and carefully, and footsteps passed by a few yards away. He didn't dare lean over and peek to see who it was. Again: potentially seriously awkward situation at hand here. Maybe it was Jacob. Or Texas – sometimes when he couldn't sleep he went out for a drive. Perhaps Dutch, doing some late-night painting. It wasn't terribly uncommon for there to be comings and goings at the Burners HQ at ungodly hours of the night, but did it have to be _right now?_

Once the footsteps disappeared, Chuck let out his breath. He waited another couple of seconds for good measure until he heard a bedroom door shut.

Everything was silent and unmoving. Satisfied that it was safe, Chuck rose again on unsteady legs, peering over the chair carefully, then quickly shuffled outside to calm his rabbiting heart. It was probably only a couple of degrees cooler outside the garage and it stank like burnt rubber but it was familiar and comforting and there was Mutt, parked at a haphazard angle and shining beautifully in the hazy artificial midnight lights overhead. It cleared Chuck's buzzing head a little just to be near her.

Okay. Crisis averted. Nobody had spotted him and figured out that he was a horrific pervert who'd been fingering his ass and coming all over himself at the behest of strange men. Great. Good. (For the record, he could not wait to do all of those things again on camera for his stranger. Yeah, definitely a horrific pervert, whatever.)

Chuck leaned against Mutt and wiped sweat from his face – “ew, my fingers smell awful,” he observed – and patted her wheel well affectionately. It was then that he noticed something a little confounding, and leaned closer to inspect it.

Mutt's windows were all fogged up from the inside. That was weird.

Even weirder, there was one pretty solid handprint smeared against the glass on the driver's side. It undoubtedly belonged to Mike – no one else, aside from Chuck, was even allowed to _sit_ inside Mutt.

Huh. Strange.

Shrugging, Chuck returned to the garage to collect his shirt, crawl into bed, and sleep for a year.

(Several years, if he was lucky.)


End file.
